


As Long As the Wrong Feels Right

by commonfairy



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Abusive Relationships, BPD Dennis, Codependency, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Smut, POV Mac, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 12:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16449680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commonfairy/pseuds/commonfairy
Summary: This is a love story.





	As Long As the Wrong Feels Right

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Love the Way You Lie," Eminem.
> 
> As someone who reads fan fics for the fix-its and the happy endings, I'm a little appalled at myself. But this was more therapeutic than anything, so whether this is good or not, it isn't happy, just so you know. 
> 
> Inspired by real events, but should still be relatively in character. Feel free to yell at me if you think it isn't. There is most likely tense inconsistency, sorry.

"Mac."

He looked up from his place on the couch, seeing Dennis in the doorway. Disheveled, wet, beautiful. Like he brought the storm inside with him. He looked dead behind the eyes. This was one of those days, then. When he needed to leave him alone but desperately wanted to hold him so tightly, so closely, that nothing could possibly claw into their embrace and cause harm. But that's the problem, isn't it? Dennis carries all the harm inside with him. 

"What do you need?"

Dennis doesn’t reply. He shuts the door and moves to the bathroom, shutting those doors, as well. He dropped his coat on the kitchen table as he left, and Mac jumped on it to check the pockets.

Bingo. 

His phone was tucked away nearly three, and he swiped it open for any clues as to what brought on this Dennis. The one that's dead inside. The one with the storm. Instead he finds sexts from some woman marked 'cafe chick' and suddenly Dennis isn't the only one with a storm.

Insecurity takes hold like a viper, lashing out, mood swinging in full force. And he can see it happening, he feels it bubble up and watches it in full color, all red and black and ugly. But he doesn’t care. He never cared. What he feels doesn’t matter, what is or isn't healthy has long been forgotten. There is only Dennis, and Dennis is  _his_.

Mac thinks,  _I’m going to kill him and her and maybe myself and nothing will stop me_. Mac thinks,  _why am I never enough?_

He throws open the door to Dennis' bedroom with all that rage Mac loves to throw around, but the second he sees Dennis it evaporates. Dennis is half lying, half sitting on the bed, smoking, wet, empty. Dead inside. Nothing but the dregs of a storm. Mac instantly feels guilty for even considering allowing his own feelings to pervade their space, for even entertaining the idea that his own insecurities and craving for love could ever match the force of Dennis' catatonic minefield. 

There is only Dennis.

"What." 

He looks straight ahead, unmoving, unfeeling. Suddenly that rage is back. 

"What the fuck is this, bro? Who the fuck is she?"

Dennis almost looks resentful, but latches on to the only defense he has. His eyes become sharp, cutting, manipulative.

"You looking through my phone?"

"That's not the point. And apparently, I had good reason to. You have me for this shit, why are you talking to this bitch?"

He waits. "Felt alone."

"I'm right here!!"

"I know. Go. You’ll be better off.” 

He's dead inside once more. Mac feels the sting in his eyes, knows this broken thing has stripped him of every semblance of self. He throws the phone against a wall and hurries to his own room, slamming the door.

This should be it, but it never is.

This should hurt, but it never hurts as much as the thought of letting go.

This should be an end, but an end is not possible. Dennis will come back to him, he always does. Mac just has to wait until he's needed again. Its addictive, being needed by Dennis. Being possessed by him, possessing him, is the only thing that makes sense. Since they were kids, it’s the only thing that ever made sense, the only way he knows how to love.

The harm inside him doesn’t matter.

There is only Dennis. 

-

It's been a couple hours and everything is quiet. Mac's rage has subsided into resigned guilt. He vaguely acknowledges the unnatural nature of his emotional rollercoaster, the rage, the guilt, the love, the panic, that came too quickly in succession for anyone to process well. It almost seemed fake, that he could switch his emotional register that fast, but thats how they worked. Their tempers were just as bad as the other’s, manifesting differently but equal in violence. They weren’t all that different, right?

Mac thought about the texts with 'cafe chick.' Dennis just didn’t know what he was doing. He was depressed, or dissociated, and took an outlet. That's all. Something went off in Dennis’ head he didn’t know how to process, and Mac wasn’t there to help him. He was alone. This is Mac’s fault. Besides, Mac is the one who has his heart, Mac is the one he loves. The one he possesses. And here Mac is sulking, feeling hurt, when Dennis is the one with the storm inside him, trying to kill him. At that thought, he jolts up and strides to the other room. 

Hesitating only for a moment, he opens the door to see Dennis in much the same state as earlier, but his face is wet even if it appears blank. He's on his side. Mac climbs in behind him.

"Can I hold you?"

Only Mac could have registered the delicate nod. He learned long ago not to blink. 

He wraps his body around Dennis, who makes the smallest, tenuous movement with his back to push into Mac's chest. Dennis stares straight ahead, dead inside.

Mac softly mumbles reassurances, things like, "Everything is okay," and "We're okay," and "I love you." Tears roll out of Dennis' eyes like they're detaching from his body, no expression, no sound, no indication he notices how rapidly they fall. He's not really here, but Mac will bring him back. He always does. Dennis is his after all, and Mac knows how to handle him. He can handle him, and himself, and they'll be fine. 

Everything is fine.

-

The next morning, Dennis wants to fuck. He’s hard, and needy, and playing with Mac’s dick before Mac’s even entirely awake. He offers Mac a small smile, kisses him, and starts to push off his boxers, as if the night before had never happened. But there’s light behind his eyes.

Mac thinks,  _it's not the right time_. Mac thinks,  _this is broken_. Mac thinks,  _I need to be inside you right fucking now_.

Dennis is here. Really here. He always is when they fuck, and sometimes Mac thinks Dennis has sex with him just to feel normal for a few moments. He smiles and moans and holds tight to Mac. He says nice things like, "So good, baby boy," and "You feel like no one else," and "You're mine."  

He doesn’t sleep with anyone else, even if he sometimes likes to prove he could. Once Mac came out and they finally turned that corner, once Dennis came home and they got here, there was no going back. Suddenly  _us_  and  _we_  became a prayer, better than any Mac had recited before. Now his prayers begin and end with Dennis, the middles are Dennis, nothing but Dennis. 

He takes his communion from Dennis' cock, recites his affirmations of faith on Dennis' lips. He traces the veins on Dennis' thighs with his tongue and calls it a pilgrimage, crosses himself with Dennis' tears as Holy Water.

The look on his face when Mac pounds his prostate is the only church Mac needs. Nothing else feels like this. This is love.

When Dennis comes, Mac is confirmed. Holding Dennis close is the final act of worship. Dennis knows this.

"Say it, baby boy."

"In your name we pray-" he takes his release- "Amen."

-

Mac disentangles himself from Dennis' iron grip.

"I'm going to the gym, then headed to the bar. I'll meet you there?"

"Sure, babe."

"Are you going to be okay?"

Dennis sighs, but smiles. "I'll be fine."

Mac thinks,  _I don't believe you_. Mac thinks,  _I take your word as gospel_.

"Okay, Den. Just check in if you need anything. I’ll come home if you like.”

The light flickered, then disappeared as quickly as it came.

-

Dennis never came to the bar that day. He didn’t answer Mac's texts, or Dee's, or Charlie's. Less than a couple years ago, this may have sent Mac into hysteria, but he's older now. They're older. He's learned that sometimes Dennis becomes so dislocated from himself that picking up a phone feels like moving a mountain, even shifting his gaze from one spot on the wall feels like a marathon.

Mac thinks,  _he’s fine, just needs his space, needs to be alone. He’s fine_. Mac thinks,  _if I don’t get home in the next 15 minutes my heart and brain will simultaneously explode_. He says goodbye to Frank and Charlie, tells Dee to fuck off, and practically runs there.

Mac finds Dennis in his room, in the dark, staring at nothing. He kisses his head and says nothing, thinking it’s probably better that way. The same dead look is in his eyes, and he figures nothing will get through to him right now anyway. They can deal with this later. He goes to take a shower.

He's about ten minutes deep into his shower, enjoying the hot water and playing music, trying not to think about what's happening in Dennis' head when suddenly the shower curtain is ripped back and Dennis is standing there, the look of a wild, frightened animal in his eyes, pointing a gun at Mac with both hands (which he registers as Frank’s), as if to catch him in the act of something vile, as if Mac should know the crimes he committed. Dennis’ face is practically expressionless, nothing but his bright, wet, blue eyes to convey anything he might be feeling. An incredibly intense, almost crazed look is present, one of anger or mania.

"Dennis, what the FUCK, it's me! What are you doing? It’s me.”

A flicker of shock and shame enters and exits those eyes fleetingly, and he’s gone as quickly as he came. Standing there with his jaw dropped, Mac thinks,  _whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck_. Mac thinks,  _I should leave, run, never come back_. Mac thinks,  _I will never leave, because nothing you could ever do would hurt me more than a life without you_.

Mac finishes his shower because he doesn’t know what else to do. He gets out, dries off, pulls on clothes, and makes the hangman’s walk to Dennis’ bedside.

“I would have left you alone, dude. I would have let you be tonight, if that’s what you wanted, but you just pulled a fucking gun on me and I don’t know what the fuck is going through your fucking head, so you want to tell me what the fuck that was about?”

He’s staring at nothing, lying on his stomach on the bed, loosely grasping the gun’s grip where it lies on the bed beside him. He looks so, so empty.  

“Just leave. You’re better off.” 

That just made him angry. “Are you fucking me? I’m not better off, and I’m not going to leave you. What the hell is going on, man?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m crazy. Just go.”

“That’s rich coming from the ‘Golden God.’ I’ll leave you alone tonight, if that’s really what you want, but please give me the gun.”

Dennis didn’t move.

“Dennis, give me the gun. Give me the fucking gun. Now.” Nothing.

“DENNIS.”

Dennis pushed it off the bed so it dropped on the floor and turned away like a petulant child, upset for being caught with a toy he wasn’t supposed to have. Mac snatched it up in a flash, disarmed the bullet in the chamber and removed the magazine. Threat neutralized, he moved to leave.Then from over his shoulder, Mac parted with, “Thank you. We will talk about this.”

He immediately called Charlie.

“What’s up?”

“Charlie, I need you to come over right fucking now and pick up Frank’s gun and get it the fuck out of this apartment.”

“What? What the hell, why? How is Frank’s gun in your apartment?”

“I don’t know, man, but I need you to come pick it up. Now. Please.

“But I just started mopping the basement, there’s like, a lot of rat blood, I really don’t feel comfortable leaving the bar in this state–“

“Charlie! Goddamn. Goddammit. I swear to fucking God, I will get Him to fucking SMITE you if you are not over here in the next–“

“OKAY! Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

He hung up and paced and panicked and pulled at his hair while he waited, and would occasionally stop breathing to hear any sounds coming from Dennis’ room. There never were. Charlie knocked.

“Thank God, dude. Just get this out of here. And lock it up or something, just make sure Dennis doesn’t get it back.”

“Dennis? Dennis took it? How? I’m pretty sure Frank already hid it somewhere.”

“Because he’s Dennis, dude.”

“Wait, what happened? Are you okay? Holy shit, did he try to kill someone? Man, I always knew it, he’s got the murder vibe, and not like a one-off murder vibe, like the serial killer–“

“Oh my god Charlie, goddammit, get the fuck out. 

“I just fucking got here! And this situation is clearly not okay! Something happened here, I can smell it.” 

“There is no situation, I’ve got everything handled. Please, I’ll see you at the bar tomorrow. Plus, you have rat guts to worry about.”

Charlie left, albeit reluctantly, still convinced Dennis was trying to serial murder a village. For all Mac knew, he was right. As he left, he said, “Try not to destroy each other, okay?”

Too late.

-

He made a list of the things to get done. Gun gone, apartment clean, pray, dishes put away, lights out. Breathe, pray, pace, panic, sit, stand up, lie down, pray, cry. There was nothing left to do. He couldn’t go in Dennis’ room, but he couldn’t stay away from it, either. He wasn’t afraid of Dennis. He wasn’t. He finally decided to lie down for good, in his own bed, and try to sleep. He was emotionally exhausted and sleeping didn’t seem like such a bad idea, he couldn’t pace outside Dennis’ room all night.

He eventually drifted into a fitful sleep.

-

Around 3 a.m., Mac’s door cracked open. A slight body moved through the dark, slipped under the sheets, found Mac’s embrace. He wrestled his way close to Mac’s chest, his neck. Mac awoke enough to look in Dennis’ eyes, and the dead look was gone. In its place was pure emotion, raw, remorseful, anguished. 

“Don’t go.”

It was a whisper, but it was clear. It wasn’t an apology, but it was an admission. Dennis didn’t know what happened anymore than Mac did. He smelled like alcohol, he had been drunk. He wasn’t sure what happened, he knew it was wrong. That it should have been it. That it should be an end.

An end is not possible.

“Never, Den. Never. I’m right here.”

He takes a deep breath. “I know.”

Mac holds tightly to every piece of Dennis he can. He’d slip inside him and shield him from his own thoughts if he could, protect him from everything, everyone, even himself. He kisses every inch he can reach, no longer in control of his own actions. His own emotions.

If he’s being honest, he never was, never once during these almost 30 years. He never has been. He handles nothing. It’s moments like these, in the dark, when his illusions dissolve. If he ever told himself he had any control over his own heart, his own will, he lied. Dennis has the whole thing.

Mac knows it’s been a couple days, and this was a climax, which means Dennis most likely be back to his version of normal by tomorrow. Then Mac will have at least a week with him when it’s good. When it’s great. When it’s almost perfect. They’ll laugh, make dinner, watch movies, kiss, hug, fuck. Dennis will say all the things he needs to say to make Mac melt, to reduce him to a chasm of love, a hollow vessel for Dennis’ emotional barrage.

Mac thinks,  _Dennis is mine_. Mac thinks,  _I am possessed_.

And that’s the thing, Dennis is so smart, so very smart. He researches, ingests information the way he does beer, remembers all of it so he knows which lines he can and can’t cross, and Mac is his favorite textbook. Mac wants to believe he’s taking care of Dennis, that he’s watching out for him and helping him and in control of their situation. That he can handle him, and himself, and they’ll be fine.

Nothing is fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr by the same username.


End file.
